The Art of Love
by ConfessionsOfAGeekyFangirl
Summary: Mark Cohen has always been unlucky when it comes to love. That is, until, he meets Grace: a sweet, shy, quiet painter new to Alphabet City with a beautiful smile and fiery red hair. For the first time in his life, Mark feels like he's really alive. But Grace has some secrets of her own, and a dark past that may tear them apart forever...
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hi everyone! This is my first fanfic, so please go easy on me. I promise it will get better from here! I've been obsessed with RENT for a while now –seriously, I watch the movie at least once a week –and Mark has always been my favorite character. He's just so cute in a really dorky kind of way, and I think he deserves someone to love, too.**

**Disclaimer: If RENT were mine, I wouldn't be writing a fanfiction about it. The only thing I own is the character of Grace. All other credit goes to the late, great Jonathan Larson. **

Chapter One

"November 12th, 10:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time," said Mark Cohen with his camera held up to his face, beginning to film his friends as they sat, scattered around the chilly loft. Maureen and Joanne were sitting on the couch, kissing. Roger was on the table, strumming on his guitar while Mimi leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. Angel and Collins shared a cigarette in the armchair.

"We have just returned home from a lovely evening at the Life Café," Mark continued to narrate, "that ended with Maureen threatening to shove a half-empty beer bottle up some guy's ass after he, um, _politely_ asked her and Joanne to stop their public display of affection"

"Hey, that douche-pants had it coming!" Maureen yelled defensively, turning to nuzzle her face in Joanne's hair. "Nobody talks to me and Pookie like that."

Joanne rolled her eyes and the two continued with their make-out session.

Mark turned the camera to face the table. "Pan left. Zoom in on Roger, who is still attempting to write a song that _doesn't_ sound like 'Musetta's Waltz.'" Roger didn't so much as look up from his beaten-up Fender but stopped playing just long enough to give his roommate the middle finger. Mimi laughed, and then looked sheepishly up at Mark.

"Mark!" Collins called through a puff of smoke, catching the filmmaker's attention.

"Yeah?"

"Would you put that damn thing away and just socialize with us?" the anarchist teased. "I think you got enough footage tonight at the Life."

Mark's camera had run down by then, but he still stood in the center of the room, fiddling with it and saying nothing. He was afraid to admit that he felt a little awkward by himself amongst the rest of the couples.

Angel, always the mind-reader, suddenly spoke up. "You know, I'd bet that if Marky got himself a pretty girl, we'd be seeing that old camera a whole lot less."

Mark looked down, embarrassed. "Angel, I don't –"

"Oh my God," Maureen suddenly squealed, "Angel's right, Mark; we need to find you a girlfriend! I met someone the other day, at the coffee shop. She was funny, and really pretty, too! You might like her. Let's see, I think her name was –"

"Whoa, okay, wait just a minute," Joanne snapped, cutting her girlfriend off. "Where was I when this happened? You never said anything about…"

The diva rolled her eyes. "Pookie, there's no need to get jealous! I'm just trying to help Mark!"

Mark couldn't help but find it kind of strange that his ex-girlfriend was now trying to help him find another woman, but he decided to ignore it. "That's okay, Mo. Thanks, but I really don't need a girlfriend right now."

"Yes, you do!" she argued.

"No, I –"

Roger interrupted, smirking. "You say that now, Cohen, but sooner or later your repressed sexual urges are gonna get the better of you."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about _that,"_ Collins laughed. "The boy's so attached to his camera; I'd be surprised if he wasn't fucking it already!"

Mark's face flushed bright red in annoyance as Roger began to howl with laughter, resulting in Mimi jabbing an elbow into his ribs. _"OW!_ Meems, what the hell was that for?!"

Mimi ignored him and looked over at the filmmaker. "Mark, we're just worried about you," she said softly, her brown eyes shining with concern. "You're always off by yourself with your camera. We don't want you to feel lonely."

"Thanks, Mimi. But it's fine, really. I'm perfectly happy without a girlfriend."

The Latina nodded quietly in response, still not looking convinced. Angel, however, gave Mark a knowing grin. "Don't worry, sugar, you'll find someone special. I'm _positive."_

Mark opened his mouth, but then decided not to argue. He knew that when Angel Dumott Schunard was positive, nothing could change her mind.

**AN: So, what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Please let me know. Reviews make the world a better place. **


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: What up, Internet? I'm back with another chapter! Yay! Hopefully the two people out there who are reading this story so far will enjoy it.**

**Special Thanks goes to rentheadwhovianandgleek4life, for being the first person to review. You really made my day. I'm sending you a Virtual Cookie! **

**Disclaimer: If RENT were mine, I wouldn't be writing a fanfiction about it. The only thing I own is the character of Grace. All other credit goes to the late, great Jonathan Larson.**

Chapter Two

"Welcome to the Life Café; what can I get for you?"

Grace Harrison self-consciously tucked a loose strand of bright red hair that had fallen from her braid behind her ear and stared down at the strange women seated before her, clutching a pen and notepad tightly in her hands.

The woman –who had dark purple hair, a gold tooth, and seemed to be of Asian descent –glanced up from her menu. "I'll have a Caesar salad, with the dressing on the side please."

Grace nodded, biting her lip, and scribbled the costumer's order on the notepad, her hands shaking. "Coming right up," she whispered just barely loud enough to hear.

She quickly turned on her heel to make her escape to the kitchen, but was stopped on her way a teenage couple sitting nearby. "Hey, can we get a refill of ice tea here?" The boy asked rather obnoxiously while his girlfriend examined her nails.

The waitress managed a silent nod before pushing her way through the doors to the kitchen, leaning against the wall and breathing a sigh of relief. _So far, so good…_

Grace was a young artist who had been living in Alphabet City for almost a month, and had been struggling to find some work ever since she arrived. After several weeks of selling her paintings on the street, Grace finally landed herself a job waitressing at a local restaurant called the Life Café. It was only her first day, and she was absolutely terrified that she would do something to screw up and get fired. She had always been an overly anxious person, as well as terribly shy and insecure, which probably explained her sweaty palms and her racing heart.

Grace shook her head and straightened the black apron tied around her tiny waist. She was being silly. She just had to calm down before her nerves got the better of her, or else she would never make it through the day. _Okay, _she thought,_ I can do this._

She moved across the kitchen to give the chef the purple-haired woman's order, and then grabbed a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. Grace hesitated for only a moment before taking a deep breath and heading back out to the dining area. She spotted the couple who had asked for the tea, and slowly began to make her way over to their table, gripping the handle of the pitcher so tightly that her knuckles turned bone-white.

_Don't mess up, don't mess up, don't –_

Unfortunately, a man seated just in front of her abruptly pushed his chair back to stand up, causing her to stumble and trip, the tea in the pitcher sloshing out all over the floor and onto the person sitting at the table next to her.

"_HEY! _Watch where –!"

Grace gulped nervously. _I am so fired…_

"Oh my God, I'm _so _sorry!" she cried, setting the half-empty container on the table. "I wasn't looking…"

Her voice trailed off as the costumer looked up to face her, and Grace suddenly found herself getting lost in the bluest pair of eyes she'd ever seen, staring at her through a pair of rectangular-framed glasses.

* * *

><p>Mark wasn't sure what exactly had happened. He'd stopped at the Life Café during his lunch break for a sandwich, and the next thing he knew, somebody was spilling a whole pitcher of ice tea all over his front side just as he had finished eating.<p>

"_HEY!"_ he shouted in frustration. "Watch where –!"

However, Mark stopped talking when he caught sight of the waitress who had been carrying the tea. She was young –couldn't be any older than twenty, by the looks of it –and _tiny, _being incredibly thin. Her skin was pale and her fiery-colored hair was pulled back in a long braid.

"Oh my God, I'm _so_ sorry! I wasn't looking…"

The waitress's voice trailed off as her wide, emerald-green eyes met his, and she chewed on her bottom lip, her cheeks flushing. It was clear from the way she was trembling that she was petrified.

"Um, no, it's okay," Mark responded gently. "It was an accident."

"Here," she said, grabbing a handful of napkins and blotting his sweater dry. Soon, all that was left was a large, slightly damp brown stain.

"Alright, that's good," said Mark, urging her to stop. "Thank you," he added.

"You're welcome." The waitress stepped back, tucking the soiled napkins into the front pocket of her apron, and then looked back up at him. "Do you want me to pay for dry cleaning?"

The filmmaker was so taken aback by her kind offer –something that was incredibly rare in the East Village, especially when it came to money –it took him a moment to respond. "No," he answered. "Thanks, but you don't need to do that."

"Are you sure? It's no trouble." The look on her face said otherwise.

"Really," Mark assured her, "its fine. I never liked this sweater anyway."

"You didn't?" she asked, looking relieved.

"No. It was a present from my mother for my birthday last year." He grimaced, and she actually giggled. "Sometimes I don't know what that woman is thinking…" After a moment of silence Mark finally stood up, offering the waitress his outstretched hand. He noticed how short she was, too; the top of her head only reached his shoulder, and he wasn't exactly the tallest person. "I'm Mark. Mark Cohen," he introduced himself.

She shook it, offering him a shy smile. "Grace…Harrison."

Mark let go of her hand and examined her face carefully. "I don't think I've seen you around here before, Grace," he said.

"Oh, I'm new," Grace explained hurriedly. "This is my first day working here."

"How long have you been in New York?"

"I've had an apartment on Avenue A for, um…about a month now."

Mark nodded.

"I mean, it's not exactly the most glamorous place to live," she continued. "It's really small and could use some repair work, but the cost is cheap, and it's manageable. Besides, it was either that or…" Suddenly, Grace stopped talking, biting her lip again and giving Mark an almost apologetic look. "Sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Oh no, you're fine," he answered, glancing down at his watch to check the time. _"Damn!" _he muttered.

"What's wrong?" asked Grace, concerned.

Mark sighed. "I have to get back to work soon. Sorry." He wrapped his blue-and-white-striped scarf around his neck, and then grabbed his jacket off of the back of his chair, slipping it on. He fastened the buttons so the stain from the tea was no longer visible. _I guess I'll just have to keep my coat on all day then,_ he thought. He reached into his pocket and pulled out enough crumpled dollars to pay the bill, setting them on the table.

"Well," he said awkwardly, turning back around to face her, "I guess I'll see you around then?"

Grace nodded.

"It was, uh, nice to meet you…however unfortunate the circumstances."

"Yeah," she replied quietly, "you too."

The filmmaker made his way outside, the cool November air washing over him. He unlocked his bicycle from the nearby streetlamp he had chained it to, relieved to see that it hadn't been stolen. He climbed on, and glanced once more at the redheaded waitress through the café's window before peddling off down the street.

**AN: So, what do you think of Grace? I'm trying really hard to not make her too much of a Mary-Sue. Tell me what you think! Please review; I have Virtual Cookies to give away!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Happy Halloween, everybody! Okay, so I'm a day early, but I knew I wouldn't have time to post this tomorrow. I'm going trick-or-treating as the Phantom of the Opera! Ironically, I wanted to go as Mimi, but my mom said no strippers. Then, I wanted to go as Angel, but my mom said no drag queens. And THEN, while we were at the costume store I found a pair of black leather leggings (perfect for Maureen) ON SALE, but my mom said no RENT characters...period. Oh, well. There's always next year.**

**Consider this chapter my treat to you. :)**

**Disclaimer: **If RENT were mine, I wouldn't be writing a fanfiction about it. The only thing I own is the character of Grace. All other credit goes to the late, great Jonathan Larson. ****

Chapter Three

At 4:00 that evening, Grace's shift finally ended. She hung up her apron, punched out her card, collected her things and left the café, beginning to walk home. Grace was absolutely exhausted from the long day at work: taking orders; serving food; scrounging for tips; making numerous trips to the kitchen and back…

She had also met some of the most bizarre people she'd ever seen, from Goths to hipsters to some homeless looking people who never ordered anything and just sat there until the manager finally shooed them away.

And, thankfully, she'd managed to make it through the rest of the day without any other accidents. Oh God, that was _so _embarrassing. Grace had to spend a good ten minutes just cleaning up the mess she had inadvertently created, mopping up the iced tea from the floor, chair, and table. By the time she was finished, the couple who asked for the refill had already left. But the costumer she spilled the tea on –oh, what was his name? Mark? Yes, that was right. Mark Cohen. Well, Mark was good about the whole thing. He didn't yell. He didn't even seem angry, unlike what Grace was used to back home. In fact, she couldn't help but smile thinking about how sweet he'd been.

Grace shivered, tucking her hands into the pockets of her skirt. Her cheeks stung from the cold. _I wish I'd worn a jacket, _she thought. _It's freezing out here._

The redhead sighed, glancing around and taking in her surroundings. Crumbling brick buildings covered in graffiti. Homeless people everywhere: wandering the streets, sleeping on benches, begging for coins from the side of the road. Dirty sidewalks littered with rubbish. And yet, despite all of the grit of the Lower East Side, Grace couldn't help but find it…strangely beautiful. Well, in its own way, at least. She shook her head, feeling absolutely crazy. Everybody else in the world would probably consider this part of New York a giant eyesore. But Grace was an artist, after all, so maybe it was just how her mind worked.

Grace continued down the sidewalk, lost in thought. For the first time that day, she felt totally calm.

She turned the corner and was about to continue when something caught her attention. The sun was setting just behind yet another tall apartment building, bathing the entire street in shadows. Now _that_ was truly beautiful. Grace simply couldn't resist; she had to make a sketch of it before the sun disappeared. After only a moment of hesitation, she crossed the street and made her way around the structure in hopes of getting a better view. Grace looked up, shielding her eyes from the blinding light with her hand. No, she still couldn't quite see it.

Not satisfied, she walked around for a bit before she could finally get a clear view of the setting sun.

It was _breathtaking._

The sun hung close to the ground, a big golden orb expelling impossibly bright light that painted the evening sky in magnificent shades of orange, pink, and purple. Grace stood there for a few minutes, just taking it all in, before sitting down at a nearby bench. She pulled her sketchbook and a pencil from her bag and got to work. She proceeded to draw the entire scene with long, soft strokes, filling everything in with tons of shading, which she smudged with her finger to blend. If only she had some colored pencils with her to do the gorgeous scenery full justice.

Grace always felt best when she was working on her art. She became so absorbed in what she was drawing or painting that the rest of the world just seemed to slip away. It was her method of escaping her problems, for a little while, at least. She felt so at peace with herself; so relaxed. It was a nice change in comparison to her usual, overly anxious state.

Finally, her sketch was complete. Grace smiled contently and tucked her things back into her bag. She stood up, ready to leave. It was then when she realized: she didn't know which way she had come.

_Don't panic, _Grace told herself, breathing deeply. _Just try to retrace your steps. _She paused, unsure of which direction to go. Grace finally chose left and began hurrying away, desperate to get back to her original spot. None of her surroundings looked familiar, though. _Stay calm… _She turned around and tried to head back the other way. Soon, after several minutes of walking around in various directions, all leading to more unfamiliar territory, it became clear that Grace was hopelessly lost.

After passing the same deli for what felt like the third time, Grace really began to panic. Her palms were sweaty and her stomach twisted into a knot. She started to hyperventilate. Oh God, how could she have been so STUPID?!Why didn't she just stay on the regular path? She was still new to the city; she should know better than to just wander around carelessly like the little idiot she was. Why was she so distracted by something as childish as that damn sunset?

_You really fucked up this time, _that little voice in Grace's head sneered. _You little bitch! Why can't you do anything right? You should just –!_

Grace's inner rage was cut off when she walked past a supposedly empty alley, and an old man emerged from the shadows, grabbing onto her elbow. The young painter screamed.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I couldn't help but notice what a pretty face you have," the man croaked. He grinned, revealing a nearly toothless smile. He was dirty, and smelled as if he hadn't bathed in weeks. His clothes were all in rags. Grace tried to flinch away from the man's grasp, but he just gripped her tighter, his ragged fingernails digging painfully into her skinny arm.

"Get away from me!"

The old man frowned. "If you do as I say, I promise I won't hurt you."

"GET OFF OF ME!" Grace shouted forcefully, stomping on his foot. He grunted in pain, releasing her arm, and she took the opportunity to take off sprinting as fast as she could down the walkway. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she was still shaking, terrified. Finally, when she felt as if she was far enough away, she looked back to see if the man was fallowing her. She was relieved to find that he was nowhere in sight, but in the process Grace lost her footing and tumbled over, her right knee scraping painfully against the pavement.

"Ouch!" she cried. Muttering a curse, she pulled back her skirt to examine the damage. Grace winced at the sight. There was a huge tear in her tights, exposing her skinned knee. Blood seeped from the wound, so plentiful that it was difficult to tell just how serious it really was. The sting of pain was all too familiar for poor Grace, who pulled her leg up against her chest, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes as she stared down at her injury with a sick fascination, struggling to catch her breath.

Suddenly, she heard a voice.

"You okay, honey?"

Grace's head snapped up, and her wide green eyes met soft brown ones. A woman stood before her, wearing a frilly skirt and a red jacket, carrying a pair of drum sticks and plastic pickle tub. She –no, wait…_he!_ Upon further inspection, Grace realized that the woman wasn't a woman at all, but a man in women's clothing. A drag queen!

"I…um…"

The drag queen kneeled next to her on the sidewalk, grimacing at all of the blood. "What happened?" he asked gently.

"I tripped," Grace explained hurriedly, still out of breath. "There was this m-man…this creepy old man…and…and h-he tried to…s-so I ran, and…"

He nodded sympathetically and grabbed a hold of her hand. "Hear, let me help you."

Grace rose to her feet slowly, trying to ignore the sharp pain in her knee as she did so.

"I'm Angel," said the cross-dresser, smiling sweetly.

"Um, I'm Grace."

"Do you live around here, Grace?"

She shook her head. "No…I'm kind of lost," the redhead admitted.

"Do you want to come with me?" Angel offered. "My friends' building is just around the corner. I could get your knee cleaned up, and then help you find your home."

Grace wasn't sure. Angel seemed friendly, but she wasn't quite positive she could trust him. But then again, what other choice did she have? Bleeding to death on the side of the street?

As if reading her mind, Angel suddenly said, "You can trust me, sugar. I don't bite."

"Okay," she reluctantly agreed. "Thank you."

"No problem," he replied –was it he or she? Grace wondered. _She,_ she decided –leading her by the hand.

Grace limped weakly, trying to keep the pressure off of her right leg. "So…will your friends mind?" she asked. "You know, that you're bringing a stranger into their apartment?"

Angel shook her head. "No, I don't think so. They trust me. Besides, you look about as harmless as a little puppy dog." Grace decided to take that as a compliment. After all, it _was_ kind of true.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Angel finally stopped in front of the entrance to one of the even older-looking buildings.

"Here we are," she smiled, leading Grace inside, "home sweet home."

Inside, it seemed to be even colder than it was outdoors, if that was even possible! It was also filthy and slightly damp, the air smelling slightly of mildew. It took Grace's eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, provided by a single flickering bulb overhead.

"C'mon, were almost there," the drag queen urged, taking her by the hand once more and beginning to lead her up a tall, spiraling staircase.

Grace's injured knee throbbed, making it harder for her to make her way up the stairs. She clutched the railing tightly, taking the steps one at a time for what felt like an eternity. Finally, at the very top, they stopped in front of a large, metal door.

"Okay, hold on sweetie," Angel said after searching through the pockets of her coat and finding nothing. "I don't have a key." She reached out and knocked on the cool metal three times, the sound reverberating off of the thin walls and echoing around them. "Collins? Can you let us in?"

"Just a second, Angel!" a deep voice replied from the inside.

Suddenly, the door slid open, revealing a tall, African American man with a black beanie hat. He smiled brightly.

"Hey, baby!" He pulled Angel in for a deep, passionate kiss. Grace examined a nearby crack in the celling, feeling uncomfortable.

When they pulled away, he seemed to notice her for the first time. "And who is this?"

"Collins, this is Grace," answered Angel. "I just met her today."

"Nice to meet you Grace," Collins said, extending his hand. She shook it, hesitantly. "I'm Collins, Tom Collins."

"…Uh, hi," Grace mumbled, her pale skin turning as red as her hair.

Collins glanced down, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the blood that was beginning to run down her skinny leg. "Damn, girl! Where did you get that?"

"I…um…"

Angel spoke up. "I found her on the sidewalk, babe," she explained. "She had an accident."

"Well, here, c'mon in," he said, inviting them into the loft and slamming the door shut.

The drag queen shrugged off her coat, setting it down on the floor with her drumsticks and pickle tub. "Is anybody in the bathroom? I was gonna take her in to get cleaned up."

"No." Collins shook his head. "Rodge and Mimi went downstairs to her place an hour ago to 'take a nap'," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Alright then; come with me." Angel brought Grace into a small bathroom and sat her down on the toilet. She opened the medicine cabinet, rummaging through the contents.

"What are you looking for?" Grace asked.

"The first-aid kit," Angel replied, her brow furrowing in confusion. She sighed, shaking her head. "It's probably in the kitchen. Those boys can never put anything back where it belongs. Wait here just a moment, okay?"

The young girl nodded, and with that, Angel left the room, closing the door behind her.

Once alone, Grace looked around, taking in her surroundings. The paint on the walls was chipped and cracked in various places. The pipes connected to the sink were old and rusty. The shower was small, the mildewed curtain pushed aside to reveal the stark white tile. One bar of soap and a bottle of cheap shampoo sat on the ledge.

_Hold on. _Upon closer inspection, she could see that some of the tiles had a slightly pinkish stain to them. Grace pulled up the sleeves of her sweater, examining her wrists, wondering. Could that be _blood_ on the floor of the shower? If so, then what from?

Outside, she could hear muffled voices speaking in low tones.

"Wait, so she just found her bleeding on the street?" asked an unfamiliar female voice.

"Yeah, she did," she heard Collins answer.

The next person to speak was another man. "Do you know her at all?"

"Look, if Angel trusts her, then so do I," said Collins.

The bathroom door swung open and Grace haphazardly tugged her sleeve back down, looking up to see Angel emerge with the first-aid kit and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "Alright, here we are," she said, kneeling down on the floor next to the redhead. "Can I see it?"

Grace nodded and pulled back her skirt.

Angel wet a clean cloth in the sink before pressing it down onto her skinned knee to make the bleeding stop, then continued to dab at the wound to clean it up. Grace was relieved to find that, once the dried blood had been wiped away, the abrasion hadn't been as bad as she'd first thought. The drag queen continued, pouring some of the alcohol onto a cotton ball.

"Now this might sting a little, honey," she warned.

Grace bit her lip as she waited for the burning feeling to subside as Angel finished, wrapping her knee tightly in gauze. She began to feel a lot better.

"Can you stand?"

"I think so." Grace stood up from her seat on the toilet. "Thank you," she said, smiling warmly at her new friend in appreciation.

"You're welcome." Angel smiled back, and then took her by the hand again, twisting the knob on the door to open it. "Now come on. I want you to meet my friends."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Wow, sorry guys! I didn't mean for this to take so long, but I've been up to my gills in homework, and Drama Club has just started up, so I've been pretty busy. Oh, well. This chapter's a lengthy one, so hopefully it will tide you over. Sorry if it kind of sucks though. It's mostly dialogue, and is full of exposition-dumping, neither of which is necessarily my strongest suit. **

**Disclaimer: If RENT were mine, I wouldn't be writing a fanfiction about it. The only thing I own is the character of Grace. All other credit goes to the late, great Jonathan Larson. **

Chapter Four

Angel led Grace out to the living room where Collins at on the couch, chatting quietly with an unfamiliar couple. They stood up to introduce themselves when they saw the two of them enter.

"Hey guys," said Angel. "This is Grace. Grace, these are my friends, Mimi Marquez and Roger Davis."

"Hi," Mimi chimed with a friendly smile. She was a pretty little Hispanic girl with big brown eyes and wild, chestnut-colored curls falling down her back. "It's nice to meet you."

Roger just looked at her with cool green eyes that were lined with kohl. He looked a little intimidating, with his tall height, black nail polish, and multiple ear piercings. His face was stubbly and his dark-blonde hair was overgrown.

Grace had always hated meeting new people. She always felt extremely uncomfortable. "It's, um, it's n-nice to meet you too," she finally managed to stutter out, her eyes falling down to the floor as she felt her face flushing.

They stood there in silence for a moment, nobody seeming sure what to say next. Finally, Angel continued.

"Grace?" The redhead looked up to meet her honey-brown eyes. "Listen, we've been talking and we were wondering if you'd like to stay for coffee with us?"

"_Me? _Oh, n-no that's okay. You don't have to…"

"Just for a little while," Collins interjected. "You can have some time to rest that knee for a bit, get something warm to drink, and then Angel can go help you find your place."

"I…I d-don't want to impose." Grace bit her lip.

He chuckled. "Oh, don't even worry about it. We're happy to help."

"The more the merrier," Angel added cheerfully.

Grace froze, hesitant. Could she really trust these people she just meant? But then again, Angel had been so kind to her, and the thought of a hot cup of coffee_ was_ inviting.

"Well…okay." She allowed to corners of her mouth to turn up into a shy smile. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," said Collins. "I'll turn on the hot plate. The others should be here soon."

"'Others'?" Grace inquired.

"Our friends," Angel explained. "I think you'll like them. Here, why don't you sit down?"

The young painter slowly took a seat on the battered, duck-tape covered couch , afraid that it would collapse beneath her (admittedly light) weight. Angel plopped down beside her, while Roger sat in the chair across of them, his arms wrapped around Mimi's tiny waist as she rested in his lap.

"So, Grace," said Mimi, "tell us about yourself."

The other girl shrugged. "There isn't much to tell."

"Well, how long have you been in the city?"

"About a month," she answered quickly.

Mimi could see that she was still uneasy. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," Grace confessed.

The Latina's face lit up. "Really? Me too!"

Grace's eyes widened. "You are?"

Mimi nodded.

"Well that's, um, that's really cool."

_I'm an idiot._

"Could I ask you something?" Roger asked.

"Sure."

He paused for a moment, as if trying to find the right words. "Would you mind telling us what happened with…?" Roger gestured towards Grace's knee.

"_Rodge!" _his girlfriend scolded, turning around and swatting his arm.

"I mean, you don't have to if you don't…"

"Um, no it's okay," said Grace, taking a deep breath. "I, um, was walking home from work, when I noticed how pretty the sunset looked, and I just _had_ to sit down and draw it. I'm a painter," she explained. "Anyway, so I wandered around until I could fully see it, and started making a sketch. It wasn't until I was finished that I realized I had absolutely no idea where I was!"

The redhead bit her lower lip, blushing. "It's kind of a bad habit of mine to get distracted by things I want to draw."

Angel giggled. "Sounds like someone we know; right guys?"

The couple laughed, and then noticed the confused look on Grace's face.

"One of our friends," explained Mimi, "is always getting lost when he stops to film something on his camera."

Roger rolled his eyes. "God, he never leaves the house without that thing! I don't think we would even recognize him without it."

She was about to ask whom exactly they were talking about, but Angel waved a hand, urging her to continue. "Sorry, sugar. Keep going."

"Right," Grace said. "Well, I started to panic; just walking around, trying to find my way home, when this old man came out of an alley and tried to stop me. I think he wanted to, um…_hurt_ me. So I ran as fast as I could, but I tripped and skinned my knee on the sidewalk, and that's when Angel found me and brought me here."

"You need to be careful out there," Roger warned, looking concerned. His green eyes were solemn and dark. "A little girl like you in the big city…who knows what could happen?"

The artist nodded. "I know. I –"

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

Mimi sighed, pulling a little bottle off pills from her purse and popping one in her mouth. "AZT break," she muttered.

AZT? Wasn't that medicine for…?

Grace gasped at the realization. "You mean…? Y-you have…?"

She nodded. "I'm HIV-positive."

"So am I," said Roger, raising his hand.

"Me and Collins, too," added Angel.

"Oh." Grace shifted uncomfortably. She couldn't believe that everybody sitting next to her right now…was going to die! Mimi was so young –the same age as her, and Roger, Collins, and Angel…they couldn't be much older, could they? The thought made her sick to her stomach. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered.

Mimi gave her an understanding look. "Don't be," she insisted. "'No Day but Today', right guys?"

They all nodded.

Suddenly, the large metal door flew open, revealing two women: one with dark hair and bright hazel eyes; the other African American and wearing a business suit.

"Hey, guys!" the brunette called. She had a loud, powerful voice.

"Hi, Mo," greeted Angel. "We were wondering when you two would get here."

They entered the loft, closing the door behind them.

Angel helped Grace rise to her feet, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Maureen, Joanne; this is Grace. I met her today and invited her to stay for coffee with us."

The brown skinned woman stepped forward, offering her hand. Grace shook it. "I'm Joanne Jefferson; it's good to meet you," she said professionally.

"You too," she replied. "I'm Grace Harrison."

The other woman –Maureen –stepped forward and (much to the young girl's surprise) pulled her in for a tight hug. "Oh my God!" she squealed. "I _love _your hair! Is that your natural color?"

"Uh, y-yeah…" Grace stammered.

"It's _beautiful!_ I was thinking about going redheaded for a while, but then I was like, 'No. I mean, those chemicals are _so bad_ for your hair' and –"

Joanne rolled her eyes and pulled Maureen off of her. "Babe, could you try not to let the poor girl suffocate within the first five seconds of meeting her?"

"_Pookie," _Maureen whined in response, "I'm just being friendly!"

"Honeybear, there's a difference between being friendly and attacking –"

She stopped talking when Maureen closed her ruby-red lips over hers, pulling the other woman in for a passionate kiss.

Okay, so it would seem that they were a couple…

Grace realized she was staring when Maureen suddenly smirked at her. "What? You've never seen a couple of dykes before?"

"Oh no, it's totally okay with me…sorry." She looked down, embarrassed.

The brunette woman laughed good-heartedly. "Just teasing you, dear." She turned to face Angel. "I like this one. She's cute."

Collins, who had been listening the entire time, walked over from the kitchen with a steaming coffee pot. "The coffee's done!" he announced. "Everyone ready?"

"Mark's not here yet," said Roger, shaking his head.

"Mark?" Grace inquired, her mind going back to the incident at the Life Café...

No, it couldn't be. After all, what were the chances of _that?_

"The one we were telling you about earlier." The blonde rolled his eyes. "He probably started filming a fucking _tree _or something and lost track of time."

As if on cue, the door to the loft slid open again, and in walked a man with the _same_ ginger-blonde hair and the _same_ rectangular-framed glasses and the _same_ baby blue eyes as the person Grace had spilled iced tea on that _very same day _at work.

Mark. Mark Cohen.

"Sorry I'm late, guys!" he said, walking into the loft. His hair was tousled, his cheeks were flushed from the cold, and a dorky smile was spread across his face. Clutched in his hands was an old, sixteen-millimeter camera. "You wouldn't believe the footage I got of the sunset –" Mark's voice cut off as he noticed the redheaded girl standing in the center of the room.

"Oh, uh, hi…Grace," the filmmaker greeted her awkwardly, looking at his friends in confusion.

"Hi," she replied softly, looking away.

"You guys know each other?" Mimi asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yeah," Grace admitted, blushing. "We do."

"We, um, we met earlier today, actually," said Mark.

Angel quickly stepped in. "Well, we've invited her to stay with us for coffee with us, if that's okay with you?"

"Oh yeah, sure, of course it is," Mark stammered, still gripping his camera tightly.

"Great!" she exclaimed, giggling.

Soon, they were all seated around a rectangular, metal table in various, mismatched chairs that had been found around the loft. Grace, of course, had been placed next to Mark by Angel –was that a hint of a smirk she saw on the drag queen's face? –so she made a mental note to be extremely careful to not spill anything. There was no need to embarrass herself any further, right?

The young painter raised the cracked mug to her lips once it was served to her and grimaced as she took a sip. _Yuck._ The coffee was completely black; harsh and bitter tasting.

Mark must have noticed the look on her face because he asked, "Do you not like it?"

"Oh, no, it's fine," she answered. "It's just…really strong. Besides, I don't really drink coffee all that often."

"Neither do I," he admitted.

"Really?" Her green eyes widened.

"No, I actually prefer tea."

Grace couldn't help but giggle at the irony.

"Just, you know," Mark continued, also chuckling, "not _on_ my body."

The others watched them curiously.

"Is there something we should know?" Collins asked.

"It's a long story," Mark explained.

Grace smiled, taking another sip of her coffee. Despite the unpleasant taste, she appreciated the warmth.

"So, Grace," said Joanne after a moment of silence, catching her attention. "What do you do for a living?"

"I paint," she answered.

"What types of paintings?" Maureen questioned, looking genuinely interested.

"Landscapes mostly; sometimes portraits. I've been selling my art work on the street for a while now. What about you?"

"Well, I'm a lawyer, and Maureen is –"

Her girlfriend cut her off. "I'm a performance artist, singer, actress, and anarchist!" she exclaimed proudly, beaming. "I've been trying to get a career of the ground for a while, but for now I have a job singing at a restaurant a few times a week."

Grace nodded. "That's great. What about you, Angel?"

"Me? I'm a street performer, musician, and fashion designer."

Collins spoke next. "I teach Computer Age Philosophy at NYU."

"Roger?" Grace continued.

"Songwriter; guitarist," Roger shrugged. "I have a band that's started playing at a few clubs."

The redhead looked at Mimi, but the other girl answered before she could say anything. "I dance at the Cat Scratch Club."

"The Cat Scratch Club?" Grace repeated. Hadn't she heard about that place before? "Isn't that –?"

"A strip club?" Mimi finished. "Technically. I love dancing, but that's the best I can do right now. You take what you can get, right?"

She nodded. "I understand."

"And I'm a filmmaker," added Mark. "You've probably figured that out by now, right?" He gestured towards his camera which was still sitting in front of him on the table.

"I thought so."

"Hey, Grace, can I ask you something?" said Collins.

"Um, sure," Grace replied.

"Well, I know you said that you paint, but is there anything else you do to make money? We know firsthand how hard it is to just live off of your art."

"Oh, yeah actually, I do. I just started working as a waitress at the Life Café today," she explained.

Mimi grinned. "The Life Café is actually our favorite restaurant."

"Really?"

"We go whenever we get the chance," said the Latina. "We always cause a bunch of trouble, though."

"I'm kind of surprised we haven't gotten our asses thrown out yet," Roger laughed. "Every time, we all get drunk and start dancing on the tables!"

Suddenly, something clicked in Grace's head. "That was _you!"_ she cried in realization.

Maureen smirked. "So you've heard of us?"

"Earlier today," Grace explained, "I overheard the manager talking to one of the waitresses. He was saying something about having to clean up scuff marks from the tables because a group of 'out-of-control hipsters' wouldn't get off of them!"

"Hipsters? Fuck, no! We're Bohemians!" Then, to prove her point, the diva jumped up onto the cool metal surface of the table in her six-inch heels and punched a fist into the air, screaming, _"VIVA LA VIE BOHEME!" _

Roger laughed, noticing the terrified look on Grace's already pale face, which was now two shades lighter. "Mo, I think you're scaring her."

"No, I'm fine," the redhead replied honestly, taking another sip of coffee, the color returning to her cheeks. Despite the craziness, she was starting to really like these people…

Grace ended up staying for almost two hours, and by the end of the night she felt totally comfortable. The others had all started entertaining her with stories about their lives, all of which were downright hilarious, if not unusual. She'd actually managed to finish an entire mug of coffee, and she could feel the caffeine loosening her up a bit. Grace had forgotten what it felt like to have this much fun!

Before they knew it, it was pitch-black outside.

"Wow, look at the time!" said Angel, glancing at the clock. "Grace, honey, we should probably get you home now."

"Okay." To be perfectly honest, she didn't really want to leave, but she was exhausted from the day's events, and the bandages on her knee probably needed to be changed.

As Grace stood up, she felt her fingers brush against Mark's for just a brief second, sending sparks of electricity up her arm, her face instantly catching on fire. Quickly, Grace yanked her hand back and stuffed it into her pocket, hoping nobody would notice.

She followed Angel to the door, looking back over her shoulder to say, "Bye, everyone! Thanks for the coffee."

"Bye!" they all chorused back.

* * *

><p>Mark watched Grace walk away with Angel, smiling warmly. He looked back at his friends as the door slammed shut, the sound echoing throughout the loft. They all had the same knowing, mischievous smirks on their faces.<p>

"_What?"_ he demanded.

Maureen started to giggle uncontrollably. _"Marky's got a crush!"_ she sang.

"Maureen! I –"

"You like her," Roger teased.

"No, I don't!" Mark protested.

"Mark," said Joanne, an unusual spark of impishness in her eyes as she fought back a laugh, "It's written all over your face."

"Aw, look at that! He's blushing!" Collins said, laughing. "Isn't that adorable?"

"Fuck you," the filmmaker muttered, slumping down farther into his seat.

However, as his thoughts began to drift back to that sweet, shy redheaded girl a warm feeling began to spread in his chest and he couldn't help but let a grin creep back onto his face.

Still, that didn't mean he had a crush.

…Right?

**AN: Okay, so the next chapter may or may not include one of Maureen's protests, and I could use some suggestions. Any ideas?**


	5. Important Notice

**AN: Hello my readers! I'm sorry to say so, but this is not an update. Due to the crazy whirlwind of Hell that my life has become, I regret to inform you all that I will be taking a temporary leave of absence from Fanfiction—at least, I won't be publishing any time soon. Therefore, I am momentarily putting this story on hiatus.**

**Let me just say that I am so so so so so so so so so so SORRY about this. I know how annoying it is when an author won't update, and quite frankly, I've put off this story for far too long. The thing is, I'm actually having a really difficult time moving ahead with this, mostly due to the struggle of keeping the characters, you know, **_**in character**_**, which is especially hard when they're interacting with Grace, who is the exact opposite of their bohemian lifestyle—as well as insecurities about my overall writing quality. (If you guys want to PM me or leave a comment about how I can improve, I would really appreciate it.) **

**Anyway, I thought that if I took a break from it and worked on some other things, inspiration would strike, but so far it hasn't. Not only that, but school starts up again tomorrow, meaning I will be absolutely swamped with homework, studying, my Social Studies project, rehearsal every day until five-thirty, and writing my screenplay, which I hope to have my class produce so it's sort of important I finish it ASAP. I swear, January will be the death of me.**

**So let me make a deal with you guys: throughout this month, I will continue writing fanfics in whatever free time I have left, but I won't put anything online. I will try to get a chapter or two ahead with this, and maybe work on some one-shots as well. We have our final show of the musical the day before Winter Break starts in February, meaning that I will have an entire week afterwards to do as I please. During that week, I will post as much as I absolutely can in order to make up for the time I've been gone. Okay?**

**You guys should know that all of the feedback I've been getting on this story so far means the world to me. You're all so sweet, and it reading through your thoughts really makes me smile; it's a serious confidence boost. Thank you so much. (And this might be a bad time to ask, but if you'd maybe like to comment on some of the other stuff I've published recently, that would be great too. I promise I will PM respond to each of your reviews from now on, if you want me to.)**

**I'll see you soon!**

**-ConfessionsOfAGeekyFangirl**


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